


Hallucination

by NyanCittyKat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Draco Malfoy, Hallucinations, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Redeeming Draco Malfoy, Repaying Debt, Slow Burn, Suicidal Draco Malfoy, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 23:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14151792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyanCittyKat/pseuds/NyanCittyKat
Summary: Reality is an illusion. Draco stumbles back into the past battlefield; an outcast who hopes to disappear.





	Hallucination

**Author's Note:**

> Art Cover by Me: https://pre00.deviantart.net/6a2c/th/pre/i/2018/089/e/8/hallucination_cover_by_nyancittykat-dc7ednn.png  
> Read on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/128499456-hallucination-harry-x-draco-fanfic

_kar·ma_   
_noun_   
_(in Hinduism and Buddhism) the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence; viewed as deciding their fate in future existences._

  
_____

 

He wasn't planning, and he wasn't expecting on going back either, but someone was able to convince him. Well, a mother does have her powers, doesn't she? Draco quietly pondered while sitting in an isolated compartment of the Hogwarts Express. Which was a favorable thing, he doesn't want to interact with anyone, nor should they want to interact with him.

Draco sat in an unusual slouching position, with dullish grey eyes staring at the floor. He didn't want to return back to that horrific place, he wanted to stay by his mother's side. How is she going to take care of herself in that emotional state when his father is imprisoned in Azkaban? House elves could only do so much. Though he can't exactly turn back now, he's always absent, running afar from his problems, and now look at what it did to him. It made him a mess.

He can't exactly live 'normally' because the world seems to have a vast hatred of his family, adding himself to the equation too. And to be honest, he deserves the hostility.

Draco thought back about the war, how it was tragic and depressing. He thought about the many deaths and how he's still living. He wonders why life had given him another chance. Draco keeps and carries a burden with him, a never-ending nightmare-quite literally.

Nights that he had spent in the house of where you-know-who have once entered, his dreams were always dark, it was tormenting. That torture forbids him to ever have a good rest, and throughout nights and days, the reminders of his mistakes made him weary.

Draco is aware that his heart is no gold, he seems to mostly understand why he was so desolated. As he learned that every action and choices he chooses affect the aspect of his life. And to view the present time, his fate is to carry the harsh sorrow.

It's funny, he thinks. The fact that "Malfoy" in Latin means "bad faith", which exactly defines him as a person. Draco should've expected his life would come out this way, but he's always distracted by all the tormenting scenes unfolding in front of him.

The recalls of the past made him sicken, ill to the stomach. He wasn't able to define his feelings; a part of him is full of anger, possibly vexation towards his mother for convincing him to go back? Or rather maybe the wrath towards everyone who views him negatively? The other part was dispirited and down-hearted. A repeating pattern of self-loathing quotes. It views himself as a failure, a being that deserved nothing less than detestation.

Truthfully, he wonders when was he capable of having such harrowing thoughts. Possibly just an effect from the war, after all, it does take an age to heal a deep scar.

Draco feels a different atmosphere being alone in a compartment. Usually, it would be full of Slytherins that he considers being close with. Though, it doesn't seem like any desires to associate with him. Draco still keeps in contact with some such as Pansy, Blaise, and even Greg; however, there were no signs of them returning. They even stated of not coming back on the letters they've written to each other.

And speaking of letters, Draco constantly gets hate mail. Or rather, "facts mail", since all of the things that were written on them were all truthful statements.

From the owls tapping on his windows, to the letters burning in flames in the hearth. Sometimes the parchments would get overloaded that he wouldn't even bother to burn them, leaving a mess scattered across his room.

His mother also gets them as well, more than him actually. She never reads them, which he, of course, understands. She mainly put them in the corner of her room, and Draco would come and incinerate it if the pile gets too much.

His thoughts slowly lead to his father, Lucius. He honestly misses him, he really does. Even though in the eyes of many others, his father plays the part of a malicious, sinister character. Yes, he admits his father is grim and stern, but Draco only has one father. Like money, it comes and goes, but his father is only a mortal man.

Time went by quick as Draco slowly stood up and went to switch into his uniform; they were close to arriving at Hogwarts after his short-unease nap. He takes in the familiar setting from the window; it passes by hastily since the train was still moving at its fast speed. Draco takes his time to catch his breath, which he noticed has hitched after the thought of almost arriving at the past-battleground.

While he changed he remembered a glass shard that he had tucked in the pocket of his trousers. He found it when he was wandering around the school building after the traumatic events of Potter defeating-  _him_. The shard was a broken piece of something, he didn't know what it was, but it wasn't something ordinary. At first glance, he thought it was from the broken window, but when he observed it further, it appears a familiar face.  _Saint Potter_ -of course. He should've expected; everything  _has_  to be about Harry Potter.

Although the glass shard itself was something that mostly caught his curiosity. It wasn't transparent like windows, nor did it showed his reflection like a mirror (but, he suspects that it might be because of its material). He decided to keep it until he learns more. And since it showed Potter's face, Draco will most likely to keep an eye on him.

_Not like you haven't already._

Draco gritted his teeth and shakes his head, ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind. He doesn't need that right now; months passed by and he hasn't thought of Potter until since now. Well, maybe just a little.

There's without a doubt that Draco is aware of his situation, but he tries to disregard the thoughts. There's no longer hope for anything, the only thing he can achieve correctly is to daydream about the things he yearns for.

Draco sighs and glides his hand through his hair. He sat down once again in his deserted compartment. Draco also noticed the white rigid lines on his stomach, stretched all the way to his chest, as well as the little pale scratches on the dark mark of his left arm while he was changing.

The black ink-like mark had faded a little, but not completely. Draco recalls when he was observing it with an immense amount of rage as he drew out the blood from his left arm, desperately wanting the mark to be executed from his skin. But it only made him feel pain as the thick red crimson blood drizzled down onto the floor. He frowns at the sight and decided to bandage the cuts.

And as they say, it takes time to heal a wound, and soon the scratches recover. Draco only wonders if it's possible to heal his heart in a short time like that.

___

 

Draco absorbs in the nostalgic aura of the horrific nightmare called Hogwarts, although there were a few different elements that he remembered using bare hands to help rebuild. But that doesn't prevent him from seeing hallucinating corpses and blood stains.

He glances up across the Great Hall, filled with many new unfamiliar faces. They were all younger than him, it made him think about how it felt like when he was in first-year. He would look up just to see the older students' faces. Honestly, his younger-self had thought he would grow up into something great, but of course, those were just fantasies from a child.

His eyes landed on the well-known dark unnaturally untamed haired boy. He seems to be thinking -  _uh-oh, that's not a good sign_  - judging from his musing expression. Draco gave a small chuckle to himself.  _How hopeless of you, laughing at your own jokes._

Draco continued staring at Potter, observing a few new features from the last time that he saw him. He seemed to had made improvements, he looks much healthier.

He compared Potter to his younger self; Potter that he now sees was not the usual scrawny boy, and Draco always notice the changes in his appearance. Presently, it seems Potter's eyes and shoulders are drooped (possibly tired from the ride), though his eyes were brighter than Draco thought it could get.

He remembered the day where Potter defended him and his mother at the trials, the green emeralds were filled with determination, and his vibe that he gave off was as strong as when he faced you-know-who. And honestly, Draco wouldn't deny seeing Potter as admirable.

Draco managed to give a diminutive 'thank you' to him after the trial, getting his wand back at the moment as well.

They had a confer about repaying life debts, Draco only hopes that Potter at least considered something, he's lucky that Potter at least agreed. If he didn't, he'll be living with repentance and guilt on his shoulders for the rest of his life. Draco doesn't know if repaying life debts is an indirect apology, but he plans to express his regrets soon when he faces the Golden Trio.

But how is he exactly going to confront them? Everyone already has their eyes on him with distrust and skepticism, it's impossible for him to be even  _near_  Potter and his two loyal guards' presence without causing himself to be killed by one of them.

Well, he prefers them to do the deed rather than himself since he was too much of a  _wuss_. The Golden Trio's reputation would rise even better since they've finally eliminated their last opponent, a known to be the side-antagonist of the story. At least it's better than going to Azkaban; his death would be bound to be less tormenting.

Or, at least he suspects it would be since he's already being excruciated by rejection from society; no longer emancipated. Although, the rejection hurts mostly from a particular individual.

Suddenly, they made eye contact. It wasn't anything new, they've always locked eyes and sending glares to each other for years. Potter's emerald ones ablaze and flaming, contrasting with the cool hue; the risen intensity of venom, piercing into Draco's icy silvered orbs.

It was like that for seven years, now it was different. Because for the first time, the emeralds were only filled with genuine inquisitiveness.

___

 

"Seems like the tables had turned,"

 

 _Indeed_. Draco took a step back, softly hitting something hard. You see, Draco was being crowded by the one and only, Zacharias Smith and his little mob. He was  _just_  on his way to his first class, it was still early-but that's because he knew he'd be in a situation like this by arriving late. But it seemed to appear that it had an opposite effect, so now he was being hounded in a corridor.

He was hopeless, he was not able to do anything to them. Draco could only stand there, listening to Smith and his pesky voice. If he were to fight back or even say anything that is nearly offensive, he'll be a prisoner immediately. So, Draco settled with a scowl on his face.

"Why did you even bother coming back? You'll scare away the kids here you disgusting Death Eater." He didn't want to be here, his mother forced him to. It wasn't really a choice. But he guessed this was better than standing in the house that was used by the Dark Lord. He could still feel the lingering aroma of him inside the manor.

 

"We don't need to see your face here."

 

"You're just another escaped convict."

 

"I can't believe they'd let a murderer be wandering around the school grounds."

 

Draco only stayed silent, he heard these words before, and it didn't hurt because it was true. He focuses his gaze down at his feet, getting ready for what was coming.

 

"Why are you still li-"

 

"What do you think you're doing Zacharias?"

 

He turns to the voice on his left side, why it was the Chosen One and his two trusted sidekicks. They've finally come to play the hero. Even if it's rescuing the enemy.

Potter took a few steps forward, a sharp glare was held towards Smith. It was almost  _menacing._  Draco couldn't help but lightly shudder.

"I'm putting him back in his place obviously." Smith sneered.

 

"He already is, you're just wasting your time."

 

"Wasting my time? By doing all of you a favor?" Smith crosses his arms furiously, "He's a war criminal, he shouldn't even be here!"

 

_Nor being alive._

 

"He's a sick and twisted scumbag, he's clearly scheming something behind everyone's back."

 

The words were spat out like poison, indicating immense anger. Draco kept his gaze down on the floor, only wanting to dissolve and not witness the scene that is being unfolded in front of him. He didn't want to listen. He didn't want to see. He felt his hand clenching, he hates this. He hates himself.

 

"If he's so dangerous then why are you taunting him? Just leave him alone Zacharias."

 

"This isn't any of your business."

 

"It is now _,_ " Potter took another step forward. "We don't need your constant whinging about not wanting some tosser to be here." Notice the fact that Potter is defending,  _and_  insulting him. How could this get any better?

He saw Smith's eyes averted, "I don't whinge," Some eyebrows were raised, which made his face turn into an irritated expression. "Fine, do whatever you want with him." He mumbled while walking away with his pack, leaving Draco to stand there with the three musketeers in an awkward atmosphere.

"Er-are you alright?" Draco slightly jumped at the sudden intrusive sound in the uncomfortable silence. He whipped his head around to face Potter, which made his breathing hitched. He wasn't sure how to respond, as making the situation even tenser. He saw Weasley and Granger, whose giving him a cynical look.

Draco settled with a nod; his voice came out as almost a whisper.

 

"Sorry."

 

Quick on his pace, he immediately turned around and continued on his way to class. Gratefully, he was thankful for having long legs, which gave him a boost with striding in speed-walking.

He took a hasty glance back, only to see the three heroes walking the other way to their own class. He exhaled and got ready for the storm on his path ahead.

___

 

The day seemed quick and short, mainly since no one wanted to deal with him; no big events other than what happened this morning. He took that chance to hide by going through less crowded corridors and sit in the back of his classes. The professors expectedly pretend that he did not exist. Although a few of them did, they only made him do more work after class so he would arrive late for his other classes, effectively deducting his house points. He didn't mind, although he got glares from other Slytherins-disbelieving that they have to be in the same house with a Death Eater. The younger years didn't mind him because they never really knew about his story. All they hear about is how Potter and his friends saved the world, shying around the trio when they saw them.

It has been quite a while since he felt anger vibrating throughout his body, he came to a halt when he witnesses a first-year Slytherin was being cornered by a bunch of older kids from other houses.  _Does seriously no one cares about this? A child is being harassed for Salazar's sake!_

He cringed as he remembered the fact that he can't do anything, if he tried to protect the little Slytherin from the others by scaring them off (since children can be very persistent, it's impossible to ask them  _politely_  to go away), he might attract more negative attention on him, resulting him on having his head hexed off.

He stood nearby, watching them unnervingly. He notices that they were using a lot of cuss words towards each other,  _how typical._  Still, those kids have nothing better to do than do this? That first-year girl didn't even do any harm. If they're going to hunt down villains, at least do it properly. Himself is a perfect target.

He then saw Longbottom coming in to defuse the situation. And as that, the girl was no longer petrified.

Draco continued on his way.

___

 

He realized that he had been staring at the piece of half-written parchment with neat and cursive words for over an hour. He was writing to his mother, next to the other letters he wrote for Pansy and Blaise.

Draco felt a sudden feeling of loneliness. He noticed how he didn't exactly have a lot of real companions throughout his life. Most of them were just his followers because of his purity of blood. This made him recalling younger memories.

 

After the letters were done, with he put it on the side, next to the pillow on his bed and laid down. Unmotivated to complete any class assignments. His hand trailed down into his right pocket. He lifts up and the mirror-like shard and surveyed it carefully. Potter was smiling at him. That made his lips curve into a frown.

Closing his eyes, he twiddled the item in his hand, sensing the sharp edges of the material. He always liked the quiet. It was calming, there were no distractions or any agonized screams from the suffering corpses. He wished his mind could be as melodically silent as this.

 

Draco wished that sleep would envelop him anytime soon, but it never was that easy. As he also did not want to replay his episodes of nightmares again. And so he laid there, hearing the background noises of his roommates. He cast a protection charm earlier around his bed just for safety. He definitely did not want this to be his deathbed. It was too soft, too comfortable.

His clothes were still in the white shirt. The two top buttons were undone and the collar was up, showing the loose green and silver striped tie. He was too drained to bother changing into his nightwear, even though he only wears his pants when sleeping. He likes the cold at night, he can't bear the heat as it made the nightmares seem more intense, it made him feel trapped with no escape routes. But it's not as if he's already feeling like that every day.

Besides that, he also did not want to see the mistake-marks on his body. He should have gotten used to the sight of them by now, although it was harder than he thought. Sighing deeply, Draco went over his laid out plans once again.

___

 

The only light source he had was the moon. A pattern of the same shape from the emblazed light through the windows, which were splayed out across the grounds. There were only dim noises of his steps walking towards his destination, carrying the letters he wrote. It occurs to him that at night the corridors are rather more eerie and captivating, from the calming serenity of the scenery to the possibility of getting caught by Filch.

This reminds him the times that he would wander around the manor at night. Lurking around in the hallways from room to room, but it was never for a specific reason. It could just possibly be that Draco likes wandering around at these kinds of time, it does seem to be quite an abnormal habit if you were to consider it. Draco never really cared though, he arrogantly ignores his own criticism.

 

He decides to change his thoughts into anything but his 'home'. But there's still an urge of uneasiness crawling up his back about his mother. His grip on the letters tightened more firmly, but his hand was trembling.

Draco suddenly finds himself staring at the wall, the gateway to the Room of Requirement.

He felt his eyebrows furrowing, wondering how he was still able to stand in front of one of his frightening dreams.

Potter is often in these dreams, more likely to be involved around the day of the Fiendfyre. His hand would constantly and repeatedly slip away from the other, falling into the searing heat. He chokes as the fire would burn in his throat, traveling down and engulfing his lungs. Draco's eyes widen at the sight of Potter high up in his broom with a psychotic grin plastered on his face.

 

The moment he wakes up in sweats is when he sees Potter leaving him to dissolve in ashes.

 

He felt his back sliding down the wall until the floor meets him. The steady breath became more wild and frantic. His puffs turned into an erratic rhythm and his hands automatically cover his face. It almost feels like the fire is itching through his skin, alongside with Vincent's embers.

That thought only made him even more disturbed, wanting to vomit and remove the gruesome memory. It didn't help the fact that he was sitting outside the place of Vincent's grave. At least, it wasn't as if he was repairing the room like before. That made him curious about how he's still not able to control his outburst of guilt.

In the end, it took him longer than it should to get moving.

___

 

_One. Two. One. Two. One. Two._

 

He counted each step he took, going higher and higher. His fate is coming closer than he thought it would. Sure he had arranged this, but he didn't expect to go through it so easily.

 

Finally reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower, he went to see the magnificent view of the moon. He crossed his arms and laid them on the railing. The letters were still tightly in his grip. The night's cold soft breeze made his hair strands gust over and tickled his face. It glistened as he sweeps the strands out of his vision by gliding his unoccupied hand through the pale blond hair.

He likes the wind. The feeling of strong air hitting his skin while he's flying on his broomstick. It's almost as if the chains that bounded him had been removed after centuries. He was no longer feeling imprisoned and confined by remorse.

The grass looked brighter without the stain of red from the corpses. But the frightening image of the past will always stay, reminding Draco that he was the cause of it all.

 

A dry laughter filled in the silence. He knows exactly what the story of Harry Potter was going to be like. Draco's name will appear, with a description of himself being the vile Death Eater and how he had helped the villainous Dark Lord to success. Potter will tell the young ones his journey and spit out the name of his antagonist with bitterness. The children would be thrilled that Draco's name will no longer be mentioned in the saviour's story soon.

Draco was balancing himself by sitting on the railing. His legs swing back and forth in his vision while he was looking down. He was counting each swing while it went in a repeating pattern.

 

_One. Two. One. Two. One. Two_

 

The letters passively obliged to not blow away, as it was set near the stairs where it would be easily spotted for whoever decides to come up the tower. Draco felt his heartbeats quicken more and more. Despite the chilling breeze, a single stream of sweat made its way down his cheek. Closing his eyes, he imagined flying on his broom at top speed, racing next to Potter. His hand reached out closer and closer to the snitch that was right in front of him.

 

He was so close, yet it was too far.

 

He felt his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes squint and only focused on the snitch right before him. Gritting his teeth, he heard the crowd's wild voices, yelling at their teammates. Flashes of green and red passed by. A rush of adrenaline filled his whole body. His sweats were pouring down his neck. This was his only hope, his only victory.

It was heated, too heated for his liking. His sight changed in a flash. He glanced down to see-

 

_Fire._

 

Eyes were opened immediately, only to see the body of Dumbledore. The place where the elder had died.

 

How ironic it is for him to fall right where the place of Dumbledore had fallen. But Draco loves flying, and his dream of death is set right here. He'll be unbound from the shackles once more.

Draco couldn't remember how it felt to be truly flying. Salazar knows how long it has been to not be hidden by a mask, to show true emotions and not replace it with another. His throat begins to burn and tightened. He tried swallowing but the lump was still there. Letting out a shaky breath, he closed his eyes once again.

Finally, the grip on the railing disappeared as he let go.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is ongoing, you think he's dead? lol


End file.
